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Calla ducked into the alleyway, smiling at the rats who scurried about at her feet. A loaf of bread was clutched in hands that could’ve done with a deep clean, and she grinned down at her prize.
It was a hard earned meal, and one Calla couldn’t help but be proud of. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d smelt something so good. Baking bread was defined one of the best things, she decided, as she tore into the loaf with her teeth, feeling like the rats scattering around her worn boots.
Come to think of it, Calla couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten, either. Then again, she couldn’t remember most things. Her hands knew how to steal, her eyes to notice, but her mind couldn’t put it all together. She chose this alleyway because it felt right. Something in her tugged her to this alleyway, tucked between a brothel and a pub, floor scattered with food scraps and those so desperate to get them.
Calla certainly felt more kindred with the rats than the people she saw walking the streets.